


In which D'Artagnan learns that getting distracted during training isn't necessarily a terrible thing to happen

by Nemeris (Eris18)



Series: a scholar and a priest [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis being Aramis, Bottom!Aramis, I know, M/M, Top!D'Artagnan, Uh...feelings?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eris18/pseuds/Nemeris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D'Artagnan has a nice thought, then a sore head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which D'Artagnan learns that getting distracted during training isn't necessarily a terrible thing to happen

It hit D’Artagnan in the middle of training; the timing was rather unfortunate, as it was followed by a rather less metaphorical blow from one of his fellow Musketeers. That said, the few seconds it took for D’Artagnan to realise that he now had a rather beautiful view of the sky through the open courtyard were spent with a rather ridiculous smile on his face.

And then Aramis, rather predictably, swam into view; he looked worried. Why would he be worried? D’Artagnan had just figured things out, and everything was _wonderful_.

“D’Artagnan?!” Aramis was cupping his cheeks, checking him over frantically. “D’Artagnan, why are you smiling like that? Have you got a concussion? Where’s the _idiot_ that hit you?! I’ll have him flogged for not paying attention!”

“Aramis,” and there was Athos, approaching with his usual self-assured, confident indolence. “Aramis, he’s fine. I saw the blow, and it was nowhere near his head. He was just distracted momentarily, is all. No need for floggings or anything like that.”

“But...why is he smiling like that?” Aramis asked, flailing in the general direction of D’Artagnan’s face. 

“Perhaps,” and that was Porthos, who was sitting at a nearby table, eating, “he’s thinking of something happy? Just a thought. Whatever it is, him lying there is getting in the way of training. Best take him away until he gathers his head again.”

“And perhaps,” added Athos, in the manner of someone who was in no way fooled by anything, “you’d best stay with him. Just to make sure he is, in fact, alright.”

Aramis nodded absently, before helping D’Artagnan up. D’Artagnan was no help at all, still grinning like an idiot and his form as floppy as a child’s ragdoll. Aramis practically had to prop him up against a pillar before throwing him over a shoulder and carrying him into their rooms.

Aramis laid D’Artagnan out on the bed; there still hadn’t been any real response from the boy, and it was becoming rather worrying. Nevertheless, Aramis made him as comfortable as possible, removing boots and breeches from them both before lying next to the Gascon on the bed.

D’Artagnan started giggling; a joyous sound, though wholly unexpected. It caused Aramis to startle slightly, and he sat up; looking down upon D’Artagnan, he let out a sigh. What on earth was the matter with the man?

“D’Artagnan?”

For a moment, there was no response: perhaps the boy had, in fact, hit his head? ...But then, D’Artagnan sat up and looked at Aramis; staring right at him, eye-to-eye, still grinning.

“Aramis,” D’Artagnan replied, grinning widely and shuffling closer. “Aramis, I just realised. How could I have been so _stupid_? It was _obvious_ , really, but so new to me that I didn’t recognise it at first, and I’m sorry for that. I really am.”

“Zounds, D’Artagnan!” Aramis exclaimed. “What _are_ you on about? Are you sure you’re not injured?”

He moved to check D’Artagnan’s head once more, but the boy just grabbed his hand and placed a light kiss to its palm. That was new, but it made Aramis smile anyway. They didn’t really do signs of affection like this; it was welcome either way.

“Aramis,” D’Artagnan said softly, smiling and still holding Aramis’ hand between his own, “I am fine. I merely realised something at an inopportune moment, but the revelation was most welcome nonetheless.”

Aramis stared at him, still confused. When no reply was forthcoming, D’Artagnan continued,

“You see, I happened to be thinking about us during training. I know, a distraction, but the man sparring with me was less than a challenge and so didn’t require all of my capacity in order to keep up. Anyway, I was thinking about you, and me, and everything you and I have been doing. And I remembered something that had been bothering me: we have never really discussed what we are, and I’m alright with that. It’s a rather difficult situation. No one can really know and yet everyone sort of does but doesn’t talk about it. It’s not like we’re at sea or anything...”

“D’Artagnan,” Aramis finally cupped his hands around the Gascon’s face, “have you lost your senses? What are you talking about?”

“You _love_ me!” D’Artagnan blurted. “At least, I think you do? You haven’t taken any other lovers since we started sleeping together, and I’m pretty sure you whispered that you’d miss me if I left, the other night. But...I’m not going to leave. Even if I argue with Porthos. Because...well...me too. Really.”

Aramis blinked, letting that all sink in for a moment.

“Well...I thought it was obvious,” he responded finally. “But...is that your declaration? ‘Me too, really’? You call _that_ telling me you love me too?”

“I...err...” D’Artagnan blushed, but he nodded and smiled. “Well...”

Aramis arched an eyebrow and smirked. 

“Clearly, my lessons need to include one more: the art of eloquent speaking,” he chuckled. “It appears that I have over-emphasised the physical and forgotten the verbal. Therefore, your aim for this evening is simple: to get me under you, naked. I’ll make it easy, and you may touch me. We’ve already crossed that boundary, after all. You may begin.”

D’Artagnan hesitated a moment; understandable, considering the options now open to him. He decided to start simply; leaning forward, he kissed Aramis lightly on the lips. Hearing and sensing no protests, D’Artagnan risked placing light, feathery kisses to Aramis’ jawline, then his neck.

Shuffling around a bit, D’Artagnan placed himself behind Aramis, his legs on either side of his lover’s. Nervously, he ran a finger down the path his lips had just taken, until it reached the neckline of Aramis’ shirt. Gently, he pulled it to one side, but was prevented from moving it any further by one of Aramis’ hands covering his.

“As much as I appreciate action over words,” Aramis said, “I did not ask for silence.”

“I...don’t know what to say,” D’Artagnan admitted. “I am not as well versed in this as you, as you know.”

“Then my teachings are thus: be truthful, above all,” Aramis replied, “and just say whatever comes to mind. As long as it is on-topic, of course. It never pays to kill the mood.”

D’Artagnan nodded, even though Aramis could not see, and then took a moment to think. How does one compliment someone in a way that seemed sincere? When D’Artagnan had tried back in Tarbes, the girls had laughed at him, calling him ‘puppy’ and other demeaning nicknames. And now? Now, it still didn’t come to him naturally. It was new and frightening and even worse than usual because this _mattered_ more than it had before.

He closed his eyes, took a few breaths; he couldn’t panic. He shuffled again, ending up next to Aramis once more. From here, he could see the man’s face, at least.

It was that thought that stuck; he knew exactly what to say.

“I love looking at you,” he said quietly. “It...you’re so expressive. And your smile...every time I see it, I want to make you smile forever.”

Aramis smirked.

“A good start,” he said. “Anything else?”

“Well,” D’Artagnan replied, “if I may, I would like to kiss you. Kiss your lips, kiss your neck...kiss you all over, really.”

“Hmm...” Aramis decided to pretend to ponder on this for a while, letting D’Artagnan squirm a bit. Eventually, he nodded; the relief on D’Artagnan’s face was amusing enough to be worth the wait.

They kissed for a while, D’Artagnan’s lips moving down Aramis’ neck and back to the shoulder previously denied them. Here, he sucked a mark; visible enough should Aramis choose to reveal it, but discreet enough that he could also keep it private.

Then, D’Artagnan moved to kiss Aramis again, taking the chance to speak against his lips,

“I would like to see all of you. You’re glorious, especially when you’re the first thing I see each morning. I...I’d like that to keep happening, for as long as you want it. If I was right about my assumptions, that is.”

“Well, my young friend,” Aramis replied, “that is your prize for succeeding. I suggest you work hard-UH!”

D’Artagnan had used Aramis’ distraction to push him back, so that he was under the Gascon. But D’Artagnan didn’t stop there; he pulled Aramis’ shirt up and off, his movements desperate and far more determined.

“I told you,” he said as he kissed down Aramis’ chest. “I do not have your way with words, and it makes me uncomfortable to struggle to do so. Just know this: whatever your feelings for me, even if you refuse to confirm or deny them, I return them wholeheartedly. I want to wake up with you every morning, and I want to fight by your side every day. I want to hear your laugh every time Porthos tells you some idiotic joke. I want to hear you berate Athos when he gets too morose. I want to hear you whisper the things you only dare to say when you think I cannot hear them. I want all of that, and I want it for as long as you will allow it. Now can I _please_ stop talking and get on with sucking your cock?!”

Aramis gulped; apparently, a slightly forceful D’Artagnan was a very attractive D’Artagnan. He relaxed against the bed, nodding his permission for the Gascon to continue. They had only really done this once before, in the armoury. It had been rushed and a bit panicked, then.

It was not so now. D’Artagnan spent an age kissing around Aramis’ cock, but refusing to touch it. Aramis grunted, trying to push his hips up and urge D’Artagnan on; however, D’Artagnan’s only response was to hold Aramis’ hips down and nip gently at them.

Aramis couldn’t help but moan; his cock was desperate for attention, and D’Artagnan was not playing fair.

“You’re...like this...” D’Artagnan panted, stopping for a moment to look up at Aramis. “I...I like knowing that I do this. That I’m lucky enough to _get_ to do this, until you tire of it.”

...It was this that broke Aramis. Before D’Artagnan could react, he found himself staring at the ceiling with Aramis on top of him.

“You are an _idiot_ ,” Aramis said, reaching for the oil on the bedside table and slicking up his fingers, “an _utter idiot_. I’m not going to abandon you tomorrow, or the next day, or even next month. I admit we may not last forever, but I am willing to stay with you until either one of us dies in battle or meets a woman who impresses one or both of us enough to make us want children. And even then, we will talk and work it all out. Together. Because that’s what we are: together. You mentioned being at sea? Then yes, _matelots_ could be an appropriate term. If you’re _really_ into this then, zounds, I will happily find a willing priest to make it all official!”

Throughout all this, Aramis had been preparing himself - quickly, if not too thoroughly. Upon his last pronouncement, he took hold of D’Artagnan’s cock, swiftly slicking it with oil, before positioning himself and sinking down. D’Artagnan cried out, pushing up instinctively and grabbing Aramis’ hips.

Time stopped for a moment; both men were panting, the noise filling the room. Other than that, there was silence; they settled for staring into each other’s eyes as Aramis’ words sank in.

And then D’Artagnan near _growled_ ; he flipped them over, pushing back into Aramis as the momentum caused him to slip out. He grabbed Aramis’ wrists, pinning them next to his head on the mattress, and began to thrust.

This...this was new; Aramis had only ever ridden D’Artagnan before, the Gascon too nervous to fully take charge and let go. But this? Aramis loved this; D’Artagnan’s movements hitting that glorious spot inside him, causing him to moan out loud and sink his teeth into D’Artagnan’s shoulder. It would leave a mark, but neither cared; it was a visible sign of the mutual claim being laid on a sunny afternoon.

Despite the intensity of the situation, and his dedication to his own movements, it can never be said that D’Artagnan was a selfish lover. His hand came down to grasp Aramis’ cock and squeeze in time with his thrusts. Aramis bit his lip hard enough for it to nearly bleed; he was already feeling that tell-tale clenching beginning in his lower back.

Of course, this not being a perfect union, D’Artagnan’s thrusts suddenly became erratic and more forceful. He kept his hand on Aramis’ cock, however, determined that he keep his reputation. Sure enough, the clenching became stronger and stronger until Aramis could no longer hold back; he came, his release splashing against both his and D’Artagnan’s stomachs and chests.

The sensation of Aramis coming caused D’Artagnan to follow; he cried out, his grip against Aramis’ wrist tightening and sure to bruise slightly. They panted into each other’s mouths, not moving for a while. 

“As romantic as this is,” Aramis grinned, his hands running through D’Artagnan’s hair, “we will become uncomfortable if we stay like this for much longer.”

“I find myself not caring,” D’Artagnan replied, “but I suppose you’re right.”

With that, he pulled away gently, getting up to find a rag and some water, before bringing it back to gently wipe Aramis clean. This was also new, and Aramis found he enjoyed the sensation of being pampered thus. When D’Artagnan joined him in bed once more, Aramis pulled him close and kissed him again.

“Are we clear, now?” he asked. “No more confusion?”

“Well,” D’Artagan replied, “I...might like to actually hear the words.”

“You’re an idiot,” Aramis grinned. D’Artagnan punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Ow! Alright, alright. I _love you_. As ever, your quick mind has reached the correct conclusion in a timely manner. Happy now?”

“I love you, too,” D’Artagan said. “Though we have to talk about kids at some point. Maybe.”

“If or when you’re ready,” Aramis nodded. “Now, I do believe Athos gave me permission to keep an eye on you. However, can I suggest we spend the afternoon sleeping instead?”

“It will annoy him,” D’Artagnan said, “so of course.”

With that, D’Artagnan stretched up and planted a kiss on Aramis’ lips, before flopping next to him and closing his eyes.

For once, there was nothing for Aramis to whisper; no secrets he was not quite ready to tell. Instead, he fell asleep peacefully, happily, and fully content.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://tommisonspubictopiary.tumblr.com), as ever. 
> 
> And this fic was borne from the fact that:
> 
> a). D'Artagnan is a clever bunny, really.  
> b). I wanted him to top.


End file.
